


Hearth

by yeaka



Series: Eye of a Prize [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor finds Maeglin a confusing little minx, but he always takes care of an omega in need.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Playing in Snow” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/153917135000/my-holiday-themed-bingo-under-cut-you-can-make). This is set in the same ‘unwanted!omega-refuge!Imladris’ setting as the Eye of the Prize series, but it’s in no way necessary to read others for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The snow, at least, is lovely, when it’s freshly fallen and light and clear, padding all the sloping roves and reflecting the golden sun. In the warmth of Erestor’s study, he can admire that view without the other consequences—the cold, and the coming need to clean up all the puddles that will surely be drudged inside. At least he now has Lindir to assist him—there was a time when he was the only one in Imladris who seemed to pay any attention to cleanliness at all.

Imladris is pristine. He has his desk by the tall windows for just this purpose. He has many reports to compile, both for his own records and Elrond’s perusal, and he pauses every so often amidst his writing to rest his fingers and enjoy the scenic beauty. His office looks out upon a secluded courtyard and a particularly striking statue of Yavanna, commissioned by Lord Gil-galad himself. Beyond that lies the mountains, dotted in glistening layers of morning frost. 

Usually, it’s only the landscape to see, but this time when he looks, he spots a supple form playing amongst the snow.

‘Playing’ can’t be the right word. Erestor leans across his desk, unsure of his initial assessment, but upon further inspection, it’s definitely Maeglin. Even from high above and some distance, he knows the familiar dark braid of Maeglin’s hair, trailing evenly down his back. He wears deep green robes today, wrapped tightly around himself and clinging to his lithe body, surely not thick enough to combat the cold. Worse, he appears to be sculpting with his bare hands, forming an intricate castle of high peaks and slanted archways. A part of Gondolin, Erestor assumes. Why Maeglin’s taken to such an activity, Erestor can only guess—Maeglin is hardly the type for _play_.

Erestor observes the display for a few more lingering minutes, impressed both with the skill of Maeglin’s hands and the lack of tremours in his slender frame. Erestor’s just about to return to his parchment when a quick movement catches his eye: Maeglin wrenches forward to tear upon his castle with a savage rage. It collapses under his weight, and he slaps and kicks down one tower after another, until his impromptu castle is no more than rubble.

He sits up afterwards to smooth out the groundwork, then plops down again and begins to roll about the snow like a deranged child. 

Erestor doesn’t know whether he should be disturbed or amused. In the end, he opts for concern—the well being of Elrond’s guests, however troublesome, is always high in his priorities. The reports can wait. Erestor tucks his parchment neatly into the corner of his desk and rises to fetch a thick cape to throw around his shoulders. Then he finger-combs his long hair over the tips of his ears—that’s always the first place to freeze—and steps into his boots by the door. 

He makes his way swiftly to the courtyard below and still finds it barren of all but one resident. Maeglin is now spreading his arms and legs amongst the snow, creating wide arcs in the shape of an open robe. 

Erestor approaches, and almost immediately, he knows what’s happened.

He can sense it. He can _smell_ it. Then Maeglin slowly sits up, and Erestor can see it all over his handsome features. 

Maeglin’s in heat. He isn’t shivering from the cold, but panting hot steam before his face and sweating beneath his thin robes, his pupils dilated and his cheeks rosier than anything should have a right to be in this weather. Erestor swiftly comes to stand over him and ask, “Who shall I fetch for you?”

Maeglin looks instantly annoyed. It’s the standard suggestion, the one any of Elrond’s staff would give. Erestor will fetch Elrond himself if Maeglin so chooses, but Maeglin only hunches his shoulders and chirps haughtily, “I do not need anyone—I am cooling myself down.”

That takes a minute to sink in. Then Erestor lifts one dark brow and asks, “Is it working?” It’s a courtesy to ask. He already knows the answer. Such a notion is thoroughly foolish, though Maeglin scowls defiantly up at him. Erestor stifles an exasperated sigh and repeats, “Who shall I fetch for you?”

Maeglin is quiet for a moment. He remains sitting on his knees in the dense snow, Erestor towering above in his warm cloak. He would offer it to Maeglin, if Maeglin didn’t already look so flushed. Maeglin fixes Erestor with a piercing gaze for several stretching seconds, then finally looks away and mutters under his breath, “How can you even ask such a thing?”

Unsure if he heard correctly between his half-covered ears and Maeglin’s quietness, Erestor asks, “Excuse me?”

Maeglin glares back up and bitterly counters, “Do you find me so repulsive?

Erestor blinks in surprise, taken aback by the question. He finds Maeglin beautiful, of course, though often rather difficult, but surely Maeglin knows that. The sneer says otherwise, so Erestor corrects, “Of course not.”

Maeglin hisses, “Yet you have found a gorgeous omega in heat, radiating such lewd desire and utter desperation, and you do not even offer to ease it yourself?”

Erestor... isn’t entirely sure what to say to that. 

_Of course_ he can sense that. Maeglin’s pheromones are raging, the stench of sex all about him, and he makes an erotic sight, even just sitting at Erestor’s feet. But Erestor has worked for Elrond for a long time, and he has enough self-control to resist the pull of alluring omegas. He answers evenly, “I merely did not think I would be your choice.”

“You would not,” Maeglin predictably answers, only to conclude, “But you have already witnessed my shame.”

Erestor answers easily, “There is no shame in it.” Maeglin only looks away and draws a random circle in the snow. Even his fingers have yet to grow pallid with cold. But Erestor wouldn’t be surprised to find a tremendous fire inside him, more so than most omegas. He strikes Erestor as the type that would take days to ease through a heat. Or at least, milk it for days.

Then Maeglin looks up and asks, “You are on Elrond’s council, yes?”

Erestor confirms, “Yes,” and wonders how it matters. He’s no lord. He isn’t from noble stock. Sometimes Maeglin seems to lust after that, while other times it seems as though he would be quite content to run off to a mine with the first dwarves that wandered in. Maeglin is... mostly a mystery, even after all this time. 

Maeglin seems to study him for a long moment, then crawls forward on hands and knees, coming to sit right at Erestor’s feet. Erestor looks down with knitted brows, and Maeglin arches up, tossing the black strands out of his eyes and announcing, “I will have _you_.” He says it with such surety, hissed in a low, rasping voice that warms Erestor’s cheeks. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. 

He doubts he can resist. Maeglin isn’t one he ever thought of bonding to, but for a simple relieving of an omega’s heat... Maeglin is _quite_ attractive, with his delicate bone structure and dark eyes and pale skin flushed pink in desire. His long lashes lower halfway, plush lips opening as he parts Erestor’s cloak. The robes beneath are buttoned high, but Maeglin only bothers with those at his crotch. Erestor wonders if he should pick Maeglin up and carry him back inside, off to a warm bed. 

Maeglin wrenches Erestor’s robes open and reaches into his tights—Erestor gasps at the intrusion, and Maeglin glances up while he works, purring, “I will _suck_ you...”

That won’t do. Erestor gulps in a breath as Maeglin’s searching fingers close around his shaft. He isn’t hard yet, but he certainly isn’t flaccid—the mere scent of an omega in heat is always enough to stir him. He usually ignores it. But Maeglin is so very _beautiful_ , and he carefully pulls Erestor out while Erestor mumbles, “That will not be enough...”

“It will be enough to tide me over,” Maeglin insists, pausing to run a hungry tongue across his lips—his eyes light at the sight of Erestor’s long shaft, face suddenly ravenous. He leans forward, nuzzling into the side of it, inhaling deeply and letting out a lewd moan that covers Erestor’s sharp hiss. Maeglin seems to savour the moment, then glances up to mutter, “After, I will return to my snow.”

That won’t work. Erestor knows it—surely Maeglin knows it. But Maeglin looks so fiercely determined that all Erestor can do is breathe, “Fine.” He drops one of the hands clutching his cloak closed to touch Maeglin’s hair. Even half-frozen, it’s silk soft, sleek and pretty. Erestor threads his fingers through it, and Maeglin’s eyes flutter closed, a low groan bubbling in the back of his throat. Seeing him like this, so feral and arousing, Erestor can almost see how Glorfindel has forgiven him.

Then Maeglin pulls back, only to open his mouth wide and descend over the head of Erestor’s cock, and Erestor’s swamped in _pleasure_.

Maeglin’s mouth is hot, wet, and blissfully inviting—Maeglin doesn’t stop, but pushes steadily forward, engulfing more and more—Erestor watches with rapt fascination as Maeglin envelopes his shaft bit-by-bit. The slide across Maeglin’s velvet-soft tongue is like nothing else. Erestor can feel himself reaching the back of Maeglin’s throat, but Maeglin continues on, taking Erestor right down, right to the very hilt, until Maeglin’s nose is buried in his robes and Erestor is drowning in utter ecstasy. 

Maeglin is good at this. He’s skilled in so many things, and right from the beginning, Erestor can add cocksucking to the list—Maeglin is already swallowing around it, already writhing his tongue along the bottom, already sucking deep. He hollows out his pretty cheeks and lets his moan reverberate along Erestor’s shaft and straight up his spine. Erestor knots his hand tighter in Maeglin’s hair, mussing the braid it’s all pulled into, but still lets Maeglin smoothly withdraw. Maeglin pulls free until only the crowning tip is lost in his mouth, and then he lunges forward, devouring it again in one quick go. Erestor clamps his teeth together to keep from crying out. Maeglin takes Erestor right down his throat again, only to corkscrew back off.

Eyes clouded with lust, Maeglin proceeds to set a relentless pace, gorging himself on Erestor’s cock one minute and relinquishing it the next, tongue constantly lapping away at everything it can reach. Maeglin sucks like he wants his stomach filled with Erestor’s essence and will settle for nothing else. Erestor is at a loss to do anything but clutch at his hair and stare at his intoxicating face. Each time Maeglin glances up, Erestor can see a swell of pride amidst the hunger in his eyes. A bit of longing is tangled in it, but Erestor doesn’t dare to hope that Maeglin longs for him. Erestor only holds on and enjoys one intense wave after another. 

Maeglin, though both of his hands remain on Erestor’s thighs instead of himself, is the first to come. He bursts with a ragged cry muffled around Erestor’s cock, and he takes it all the way down his throat again and nuzzles into Erestor’s crotch while he squirms through his release, as though afraid to leave his mouth free to scream. His fingers dig tightly into Erestor, his hips rutting forward against the air. Erestor feels a stab of regret that he didn’t pleasure Maeglin in return—usually when omegas request him, he strokes them gently or makes slow love to them. Maeglin seems the type for neither, and spills himself within his clothes as he whimpers against Erestor’s stomach. 

When the tremours have ceased, Erestor pets him, waiting for him to pull off of his own accord. But Maeglin only resumes the movements of his tongue, his head staying in place while he suckles greedily on Erestor’s cock. Erestor forces himself not to hump Maeglin’s mouth, and instead stands still while Maeglin tries to drink from him. 

It doesn’t take long for him to finish. He hisses when he comes, fighting not to scream, and clenches his fists as he rushes into Maeglin’s hot mouth—Maeglin mewls delightedly and sucks all the harder, slurping it all down. The raunchy move only intensifies Erestor’s orgasm, and he enjoys himself immensely, happily spilling each drop down Maeglin’s eager throat. 

Maeglin lingers until absolutely everything is gone. It gets to the point where the intensity of Maeglin’s mouth is nearly painful, and Erestor’s foggy head is slowly coming down. He gives Maeglin’s forehead a little push, and Maeglin obediently slips off, mouth still hanging open and saliva dribbling down his chin.

He wipes it away on his sleeve while Erestor sluggishly tucks himself back in. This is _not_ how he foresaw the incident going. But he has no regrets. More than anything, he’s surprised at just how much Maeglin seemed to _enjoy_ sucking his cock. 

Maeglin looks up at Erestor with a strange look now, and Erestor wonders for one fleeting moment if he’ll be asked to stay. But then Maeglin looks away, slowly running his tongue across his swollen lips. He’ll likely be hard again in minutes.

And if he asks, Erestor will come running, but not before then. Erestor points up at the window of his office, drawing Maeglin’s gaze back to him, and says, “I can see you clearly from my window. If you should have need of me, even to send for another, simply wave, and I will come.”

Maeglin’s eyes linger on the window, then he nods. His mouth is now stubbornly closed, and Erestor imagines he’ll need time to think before proceeding with anything.

So Erestor pulls the cloak from his shoulders and tucks it tenderly around Maeglin’s body, just in case. Maeglin takes hold of it but says nothing else. Erestor swiftly returns inside, keen for its warmth again, now that he’s lost Maeglin’s wondrous mouth. 

By the time Erestor has settled back into his desk, Maeglin has begun his castle anew.


End file.
